There is no "one day".

It was around 2016, after a long recovery from a concussion that lasted longer than I could have ever imagined, I when I found myself thinking about my life.  I wondered where I was at, what I had already accomplished and what I was planning on doing.  I was 37 and still wondering when would I feel like I've finally figured my life out?  I mean, I checked all the boxes: education (check), career (check), marriage (check), mortgage (check), children (check), pay (check).  What else was there to figure out?  But there I was feeling haunted by a phrase that simply would not go away.  No matter how hard I tried, no matter how many lists I made and then systematically checked off, no matter how committed I felt deep down inside, I found myself repeatedly saying:

One day, I'll go through that drawer.
One day, I'll get rid of these clothes.
One day, I'll get organized.
One day, I'll I clear out all of this junk.
One day, I'll learn how to make that dish.
One day, I'll try doing that.
One day, I'll travel to that place.
One day, I'll invite them over.
One day, I'll see that show.
One day, I'll read that book.
One day, I'll say what needs to be said.
One day, I'll finally have things the way I want them.
One day, I'll have it all figured out.
One day, It'll be one day.

But the thing is, "one day" never came.

You see, there is no such thing as "one day".  It is a figment of our imagination.  It's a little white lie we tell ourselves when we're experiencing fear of missing out.  There is yesterday, there is today, and there could be tomorrow.  But one day, uhn uhn!  One day simply doesn't exist anywhere on the calendar!

I came to this realization when, for the first time in my life, I sat by the bed of a dying man.  It was when got to experience watching the last breaths of my father-in-law as he ended his long journey through life.  When his laborious breaths were finally coming to an end and we knew his time was near.  It was a long and hard journey, particularly towards the end, and from one moment to the next we thought, "Oh, boy!  This is it.  He's gone.  That was his last breath!"  and then suddenly he would start breathing again.  It was so terrible.  Unpredictable.  Unnerving.  Unsettling. Unimaginable.  He held on for so long.  In the end I realized that he was going to go when he was going to go.  And we had absolutely no control over it.

It was then that I realized, that there really is no "one day".  There is only today.  There is only this moment.  You simply do not know when you're last breath will be even when you're sure it's the last.  It's absolutely and positively not in your control.  Yes, its unnerving.  Yes, its unsettling. Yes, its unimaginable.  But today is the only day that you know you'll get.  Because unbeknownst to you, there will be a day when your time will come for you to take your last breath.  No if's, and's, or but's.  No one can escape this final destination.  We all share this same fate no matter who we are, what we have accomplished and what we still hope to accomplish "one day".  It is the great equalizer.

So my question to you is, will you leave this earth with a laundry list of things you wish you had done on that elusive "one day" that never came?  Or, will you you live your days knowing that "one day" is in fact today, right now, in these very moments. Will you live your life well by achieving that which you could, by loving and living wholeheartedly and realizing your infinite potential?

I know which one I choose.

Come join me in my journey.

One year, one woman, and 50 books.

Back in 2016 I had enough of saying, "one day, I'll...".  I decided then and there that I would tackle a single "one day" task at at time.  First up to bat - reading.

For as far back as I can remember I lived in a house surrounded by readers.  My most prominent memory by far is that of my father sitting on the couch reading.  I can still see his long lanky legs crossed in front of him, his upper half obscured by the paper held open in front of his perusing face, his lips pursed in concentration, a slipper precariously dangling from one foot.  Many an early Saturday morning I would see the slight swing of his right foot as he patiently reviewed the various articles, the low hum of the Portuguese soccer game on the radio keeping him constant company in the background, and the warm glow of the Saturday morning sunrise as it beamed through the east facing picture window of our living room on Crittenden Square.  Unlike so many fathers my dad is no handy man.  He is instead a word smith.  He might never be able to fix a car engine or struggle to change a tire but reading and writing, now that's his forte.  And, if the price is right, he might even talk your ear off if you're willing to discuss soccer or US politics!

As a family we always read.  Both my parents are readers as is my sister.  I have fond memories of reading on that same couch that my father regularly frequented.  My first real obsession: The Babysitters Club!  Do you remember Kristy Thomas, Mary Anne Spier, Claudie Kishi and Stacey McGill?  Seriously, I would plow through those volumes like a thirsty soldier.  And the Super Special books - don't even get me started.  I literally made a secret promise to myself that I would one day own and read every single one of those Super Specials.  This was just the beginning of my life long love of reading.  From there I explored books both in high school and as an extracurricular which led me to a degree in English and Psychology followed by a Masters in English.  So I read as a pleasure, as a passion, and with purpose.  I was lucky that books led me to my calling which is as an educator and I can tell you that I've spent many a long lonely night marking essays as an English teacher.  But the 3 P's of reading came to a full stop when A. I was reading more student essays than polished published works and B. when I had kids.

When I had kids it was like my literate mind shut down and my eyeballs stopped working in sync with my brain.  Literature was no where on my agenda.  I couldn't make time for it and even if I could, my mommy brain was so fried I couldn't makes sense of it.  I can recall trying to read while sleep deprived and in the depths of diaper despair - the words went in, and the words went straight out.  I think maybe they dribbled out the side of my ear?  Who knows...those were different times...I was so tired I even literally walked into a wall once!

In any case, by 2010 I had abandoned my guilty pleasure of reading almost entirely and en lieu of books I was taking on motherhood by storm.  And that was when I found myself saying, "one day I'll read again".   That is until Harry came into my life.

Yes, you got it.  Harry.

Harry Potter.

While my background was literature and the ivory tower I am, as you are aware, only human and this muggle was wondering what all the fuss was about with J.K. Rowling's phenomenally famous book series.

And with that I began to read again.

Because of Harry I ended up reading about 25 book in 2017.  It might have taken an entire year, but I did what most people won't and that made me proud.  It also made me wonder: if I can read 25, I wonder if I could do 50?

And so in 2018, I set a personal goal to read 50 books and see where that would take me.